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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28927179">It's The First Day of the Rest of Your Life</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/notoverjoyed/pseuds/notoverjoyed'>notoverjoyed</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>No Hero [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel (Comics), Young Avengers (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anxiety, Canon Compliant, Detention, Explosions, Fireworks, Gen, Guilt, High School, Hospitals, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Minor Original Character(s), Moral injury, Mutant Powers, Origin Story, Underage Drinking, for like three dialogue lines but whatever, manifestation of mutant powers, not any named characters just to be clear</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 13:27:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,220</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28927179</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/notoverjoyed/pseuds/notoverjoyed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>*edited repost of an earlier work*</p><p>Mutant power manifestations rarely go smoothly, but few are as devastating as this.</p><p>Or, Tommy has a bad day.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>No Hero [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2121603</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. One Last Day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The day begins as its normal slow self, and Tommy Shepherd is late for school for the very last time. And he's not the only one who's late. It's a Monday morning early in March, and the quiet shrouding the tiny apartment he shares with his mom is broken by muttered curses drifting down the hall. His mom, Mary, is standing in the cluttered entrance hall and glaring at the messy space. It's littered with boxes and bags that had been sitting there since the two moved in months ago.</p>
<p></p><div>
<p></p><div><p>“I just know that both earrings were in my jewelry box, and that was unpacked days ago,” she sighs to herself.</p></div><div><p>She and Tommy had moved back in January but only a few boxes had been fully unpacked. The clutter makes it that much more difficult to get ready for work every morning and today she’s running later than usual. Of course she could just call and say she’s going to be late. But she’s already behind on her workload since filing for divorce  and finding a new place to live and….</p></div><div><p>“Aha!” she says with a smirk as she spots a small dish perched precariously on one of the boxes. The wayward stud is there mixed in with the spare key and some change.</p></div><div><p>“Found you!” She forgets that she only has one shoe on and stumbles as she picks her way to the box. Staggering out of the one shoe, she starts a new search for the other. Just as she finds it by the couch in the living room, she hears the rumble of the school bus. It won’t be more than a few minutes until the bus reaches their stop.</p></div><div><p>It takes a moment for the significance of the noise to register, then she shouts, “Tommy! Get the hell up,  you’ll be late for school."</p></div><div><p>Tommy, still sleeping hard, doesn't hear her. He used to able to get himself up and out of the house. Had to, since she and Frank never did have time to play alarm clock.</p></div><div><p>"Even less now," she mutters to herself and decides right then that she wouldn't be late to work <em>again</em> just to drive him to school. He’ll just have to get  to school by himself if he's too lazy to get himself out of bed on time.</p></div><div><p>She puts on her  shoes and her coat, scrounges around in her purse for her car keys, and leaves without another word. Her son sleeps on, dead to the world even with the alarm going off right next to his head.</p></div><div><p>
      <b>. . .</b>
    </p></div><div><p>BzzzzzzZZZZZZzzzz…..</p></div><div><p>Fifteen minutes of the alarm droning finally drags Tommy into consciousness. He groans as his eyes flutter open and squints against the glare from his bedroom window. For a moment he forgets why he’s awake. Then his eyes focus on the wavering numbers of the digital clock on his bedside table. He startles at the time, staggering half out of bed in a groggy panic.</p></div><div><p>“Fuck, 8 o’clock already?” he moans as collapses back into the bed. </p></div><div><p>“Overslept. Again. Fuck, <em>why</em>?”  Lately he's been sleeping hard and <em>long</em>, late to class more often then not and driving his mom insane by begging a ride to school every time. A therapist (like the one he met at a hilariously awkward family counseling session) might have something to say about that, something about the trauma of impending divorce placing an undue burden on his psyche or something. Or it's just puberty, <em>fuck</em>. He considers just going back to sleep.</p></div><div><p>
      <em>One more tardy, Mr. Shepherd, and I will be forced to give you another detention.</em>
    </p></div><div><p>Mrs. Dubard’s words echo in his memory. It’s just one more tardy, one more detention, and one more mark against him with the school administration. An absence would get his mom called though. That would mean a lecture from her and silence from his dad. It would be a whole <em>thing</em>.</p></div><div><p>“Not like I'll get back to sleep anyway” he grumbles as he rolls to the floor. He stretches for the t-shirt tossed over the foot of his bed. As much as he's sleeping, his waking hours have recently been plagued with restlessness. Once he's up he can hardly sit still and his mind just keeps racing ahead. If only his body could keep up. He has next to no time to get ready if he wants to catch the bus. Tommy heads from his bedroom to the bathroom, wondering if he’ll even be able to sit through another detention.</p></div><div><p>"Mr. Carson doesn't even let you take bathroom breaks," he says to his reflection. "I'll probably get another detention just for twitching." He frowns as the mirror.</p></div><div><p>His hair is sticking up in white cloud of bedhead, and he sighs as he hurries to pat it down. It's been fully white for at least six months, fading from the brown you'd see in pictures of him as a toddler.  Tommy’s pretty sure the hair is one of the reasons Mr. Carson doesn’t seem to like him that much. Of course that might be because he's gotten in a few fights over it. Everyone thinks he bleaches it, and comments to that effect get pretty old when you hear them as much as he has.</p></div><div><p>Tommy doesn’t take too long preening and speeds through brushing his teeth. He swipes on some deodorant, pulls on his shoes, and grabs a jacket and his book bag before dashing through the living room and out the front door.  There's barely a pause to lock the door before he's off  to the bus stop. First he walks, then runs, his dingy green sneakers slapping the pavement.</p></div><div><p>He can see the bus stopped at the corner just ahead, its bright yellow paint job glowing in the morning light. Just as he thinks he might make it, the door closes, and the bus lurches forward. Tommy picks up his pace to a near sprint, hoping the driver might see him and stop, but it’s no use. The bus lumbers around the corner just as Tommy reaches the stop. Not quite fast enough.</p></div><div><p>Panting, he scowls and considers his options. The bus has already left, and his Mom is gone by now. There’s his old bike that he’s outgrown, but it’s un-ridable with a flat tire. Tommy never did learn how to fix it. It's not like either of his parents had the patience to teach him something like that. With no other choice, he starts walking.</p></div><div><p>He sighs as a cold breeze picks up, reminding him that spring is still a few weeks away. If he walks fast he’ll warm up soon. If he walks faster, there’s still a sliver of hope that he’ll make it to homeroom on time. He zips up his jacket and settles into a light jog.</p></div><div><p>Tommy used to dislike running. In gym they'd be forced to run laps around the soccer field in freezing and boiling weather alike. He's faster now, and might even enjoy the run for any other reason. </p></div><div><p>“Why not just skip the whole day and save yourself the trouble?” he mumbles as he navigates unfamiliar side roads.</p></div><div><p>He's just entering the neighborhood where he'd lived until before his parents divorced. A bank's sign flashes the temperature, 38°, and then the time, 8:15am. Tommy groans, knowing he has only a few minutes more to get to class.</p></div><div><p>“Why 8:20? Why not 8:45, or 8:30 even?” he grumbles, but runs on. He's close to the school now. In more familiar territory, he decides to use a shortcut. He takes a sharp left into a small side street.</p></div><div><p>Unfortunately, he hears  sounds of construction equipment as as he turns the corner. He slows and stops on the sidewalk of the road he'd hoped to cross. The cracked concrete is getting a long overdue facelift. Fresh pavement stretches on for almost a mile in one direction and he other side is full of workers and equipment preparing the ground. There’s no hope of cutting across the area.</p></div><div><p>“When the hell did they start this?!” he shouts, hardly hearing himself over the nearest machine. There had been complaints about this road while he was living there; they must have starting fixing it after he moved out with his mom. Great for the current residents, but now has no chance of getting to class on time. His back slumps a bit as he turns it on the fresh asphalt and walks back the way he came. He'll have to take the long way around.</p></div><div><p>
      <b>. . .</b>
    </p></div><div><p>Its 8:30 by the time he reaches school. He approaches the entrance right as the late bell rings.</p></div><div><p>“Missed all of homeroom,” he mutters grumpily. He pulls open the heavy metal door and waves a hand at the teacher set to monitor the entrance. The man gestures at the clock mounted on the wall and casts a stern look at the boy. Tommy sighs, and trudges toward the attendance office instead of his first period class. Students begin to filter noisily out of the classrooms at the far end of the hall.</p></div><div><p>“You know the drill,” the teacher says as Tommy passes him. Tommy nods and rolls his eyes. Unphased, the teacher turns back to the door to catch any more late arrivals. Tommy opens the door to the attendance office. Behind the desk, Mrs. Dubard looks up and sees him. It seems to Tommy that she looks a little too happy to see him come into her office again. She’s definitely going to write a nasty note in his disciplinary folder.</p></div><div><p>“Late again, Mr. Shepherd,” she says, steepling her fingers on her desk. Tommy imagines a malicious gleam in her eye. She looks down for a moment and scribbles something on small notepad.</p></div><div><p>“Traffic,” he offers with a shrug and a hand rubbing the back of his neck. He receives a raised eyebrow from Mrs. Dubard as she looks up. The bell rings again shrilly, and the distant clamor of the other students fades.</p></div><div><p>She seems unimpressed with his excuse. “Well, traffic or no, you have no excuse for being late. You’ve earned yourself another detention, so you’ll be expected in room 106 after the final bell tomorrow.” </p></div><div><p>She rips a yellow slip of paper off the pad she’s been writing on and hands it to him. It has the details of his punishment written on it, and as expected, it’s Mr. Carson who’s supervising.</p></div><div><p>Tommy turns to go, saying, “I guess if that’s it-“.</p></div><div><p>“Your parents will be notified of this," Mrs. Dubard adds. "They may be called in for a conference if this pattern continues."</p></div><div><p>“Sure, Okay, It’s a date” Tommy responds flippantly. His parents haven't had any kind of conversation with each other since the split, much less one about him. Event then, it’s been a while since they’ve talked about anything but what he’s done wrong.</p></div><div><p>“I hope that this detention convinces you of the drawbacks of your recent negative behavior,”  Mrs. Dubard says as he edges toward the exit. Her duty done, she looks back down at her desk. At her implied dismissal Tommy reaches for the door-handle. He closes the door behind him with a bit more force then necessary and passes the teacher again. The man ignores him..</p></div><div><p>“Negative behavior,” he humphs , a tight-lipped smile flashing across his face. His record is full of examples of ‘negative behavior’, though that’s not what Tommy would call it. He’s far from the only kid to mouth off in class, and there’s only that one fight on his record. Well, they only had proof of the one.</p></div><div><p>Its true that that he’s been a little more… on edge recently, but he’s been trying to rein it in. Though it’s hard to stay calm and collected while feeling increasing hyperactive and jittery <em>all the damn time.</em> Tommy stuffs his hands in his jacket pockets, his fingers clenched into fists.</p></div><div><p>His mother says that he’s just under a lot of stress from the divorce, when she’s paying attention. Who even knows what his father’s opinion is. His dad has never been vocal about Tommy's misbehavior, though he's quick to pay if Tommy breaks anything.</p></div><div><p>Without thinking, Tommy ends up outside his first period class. The door is still cracked open a bit, so he pushes it open with his shoulder just enough to enter the room. His entrance interrupts his chemistry teacher just as she’s about to begin the lecture.</p></div><div><p>“Nice of you to join us” she jokes, but he just shrugs a greeting and moves to the nearest empty seat. He receives a few sympathetic looks as he sits down, but not from anyone he knows well. All the students know about Union Central’s stringent attendance policy.</p></div><div><p>He’s still pretty new here, having starting about a month after the beginning of the school year. His family moved nearby in some attempt at a fresh start, doomed to fail. His parents separated just a few months after the move and. All anyone knows about him is his <em>bad attitiude</em> and his <em>weird</em> <em>hair</em>.</p></div><div><p>Of course it doesn’t matter much now, as he’s not in any kind of mood to chat. He tugs a notebook and pencil out of his bag as he sits. Slumping in his seat, he taps his pencil on the desktop agitatedly.</p></div><div><p>
      <b>. . .</b>
    </p></div><div><p>Tommy spends the rest of the day in an irritable haze. He tries to pay attention to his teachers’ lectures, but keeps losing focus as they drone on and on. He settles for answering teachers’ questions with monosyllables and shifting in his seat. </p></div><div><p>Lunch he spends with a group he’s friendly with and listens in on their conversation. He's not interested enough in the banter to join in, and soon loses track of what they're laughing about. Growing bored, he leaves early from lunch, and would do the same for his classes if he was allowed. Instead, he watches the clock tick away the minutes. It’s a long wait until the final bell rings at 3:30pm.</p></div><div><p>Time crawls forward in milliseconds. Eventually the bell sounds it long screeching ring, finally dismissing the students. Tommy is the out of his seat in an instant. He reaches the door before most of the other students have even packed away their things. With tomorrow's detention, he's eager to leave on time today, so he walks toward the front doors as fast has he can.</p></div><div><p>Once outside, Tommy realizes that he’s in no hurry to go home. Thanks to Mrs. Dubard's warning, he knows he can look forward to a lecture when he gets back to the apartment. If he’s lucky his mom will be working late tonight and he can avoid seeing her entirely. But he doesn’t feel so lucky. </p></div></div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. One Last Night</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>He circles around his neighborhood one more time, not ready to go into the apartment just yet. It's getting chilly as the sun sets and the warmth fades from the concrete under his feet. Unfortunately, his stomach insists he goes home, as he never finished his lunch.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>When he steps onto the cracked asphalt of the apartment's parking lot, he know's he gotten lucky for once. There's no sign of his mom's shitty little car anywhere. A few quick steps and he's unlocking the door to #3 on the first floor. Rubbing cold hands in the warmth inside, Tommy cautiously goes inside.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He keeps an eye out for his mother as he gets to the living room, but the whole place is dark and quiet. Satisfied that she’s still at work, he starts to cross the room to get a snack from the kitchen. In his haste, he doesn't even turn on the light. Then he sees a blinking red light in the darkness next to the couch. Groaning, he walks toward the answering machine, no more than a white splotch blinking red next to the house phone. Of course, unused to the layout of the new place, he smacks his shins on the coffee table.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He curses at the table, then glares at the blinking light. “Might as well get this over with,” he mutters. It could only be a message from his mom. No one else would bother calling the apartment; the number is so new even Tommy can’t remember it. He perches on the arm of the couch and pushes the button to listen.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>BEEEEEEEP</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Tommy, when you get home, you are to <em>stay</em> home. You are not to go <em>anywhere</em> tonight, or any night this week. I’ll have to leave from work early to take you home tomorrow since you've gotten yourself detention, again. This is <em>highly</em> inconvenient for me, so I don't want to hear any complaints. My schedule does not revolve around your… behavior. I'd ask your father, but god knows <em>he</em> won't bother to pick you up. <em>You</em> will be the one to tell the school that there won't be a parent-teacher conference until that man decides to be there." She exhales loudly, a rush of static heard through the machine. "I come home late tonight, so I suggest you decide whether you want to straighten up your act before we talk about this tomorrow.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>BEEEEEEEP</p>
</div><div>
  <p>When the message is finished, Tommy makes a face into the dark. “Like it’s that much of a trial for you Mom,” he sneers in response to her self-sacrificing tone. He stalks toward the kitchen, agitated at the warning to ‘straighten up his act’. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>You'd think he fucking <em>killed</em> someone the way she talks. He’s not even that bad a kid, at least not compared to others he knows. His grades have actually gotten better since he and mom moved out. It's just... recently he hasn’t been able to stay still, or pay attention, or keep his stupid mouth <em>shut</em>. Because of this he keeps getting into more trouble than his mom can tolerate. And this punishment, all for a stupid detention, it wouldn’t even be enforced. She never enforces anything.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Screw it,” he says suddenly, and walks right past the kitchen and into his bedroom. There’s a heavier jacket draped over a chair and he snatches it up. Then he stuffs a hand in the drawer of his bedside table and fished for the bit of cash he'd squirreled away.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Why even involve Dad anyway," he mutters. Shrugging into his jacket, he stalks back into the living room. "Probably doesn’t even remember any other time I’ve gotten into trouble this year." To be fair, Tommy is partially to blame for that. They’ve maintained this mutual avoidance for years now. He’s a little too good at getting his father riled up, and doesn't enjoy the yelling that follows. The less his father knows about his life, the better. Tommy grabs his house-key and stalks into the dark, slamming the door on the way out. Lucky for him, this wasn't the kind of neighborhood where people bothered to call the cops on teenagers out after dark on a school night. No need to be labeled a juvenile delinquent for real.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He has no clear idea of where he's going. After a fast food dinner and at least an hour of wandering, nothing seems to be happening. It’s Monday night so no one from school is having a party, and he’s way too antsy to catch a movie. He’s so bored just walking around that he toys with the idea of going home and dealing with his mother after all. It would give him something to do anyway.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Just as he's considering going home, he spots a spray of dim sparks on the horizon. They look like bottle rockets. Now that Tommy can see them he can <em>just</em> hear the thin whine of them being launched into the air. They must be close, whoever's shooting them off. Maybe in a nearby park?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>With new enthusiasm, he starts toward where the rockets seem to be coming from. All he has to do is follow the sprinkling of colored lights that appear every few seconds in the eastern sky.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>A few minutes more and he arrives at one of the local parks. This one is small, just a broad grassy courtyard hemmed in by buildings on all sides.  There's a group of cars pulled up onto the grass, and a few people standing around near the cracked concrete slab of an old basketball court. Tommy sees a guy he knows from school, from gym class. He shouts a greeting, and the guy recognizes him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Yo! Tommy” the boy says when Tommy gets closer.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Hey Ethan. What’s going on here?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Just shooting off some fireworks."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Fireworks?" Tommy bounces on his feet and cranes his neck toward the basketball court.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"This girl I know got some from out of state over the break.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Doesn't explain why you'd shoot them off on a Monday. Hardly anyone around”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Yeah, we figured no time like the present. And you're around, aren't you? What're you up to?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Just trying to get out of the house," Tommy says casually. The way he shoves his hands into his pockets invites no further questions.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I can feel that,” Ethan says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Just then a truck pulls up and bumps over the low curb onto the grass. Two older teenage boys get out. One of them shouts, “This where the party at?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Another boy shouts back, “Dude, there’s only like, six of us. Not much of a party”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The first guy reaches into the bed of the truck and pulls out a case of beer. “Is now” A couple of the others let out whoops and head towards the truck. Ethan wanders that way too, and Tommy follows.</p>
</div><div>
<p></p><div><p>“Hey Ethan, hand over a couple of those,” Tommy says.</p></div></div><div>
  <p>“Sure,” the boy says as he grabs two cans from the box, but pauses with a grin before giving them to Ethan. “I need some compensation first though” He cocks his head expectantly, holding out one hand and dangling two beers in the other.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I’ve got about 37 cents on me right now. You’re gonna have to run me some credit,” Ethan says sarcastically.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Do I look like a fucking bank to you?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Tommy rolls his eyes and pulls out a few bucks from his pocket. “Here,” he says, and stuff the bills in the guy’s empty hand while plucking the cans from the other. They guy seems startled to see the drinks gone, but looks down at the money and nods. He's probably already a bit drunk.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Pleasure doing business with you,” he says mockingly as Tommy and Ethan walk away.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Asshole,” he mutters when they’re out of easy hearing distance. Then “Thanks,” as they crack open their beers. Tommy takes a sip then grimaces.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Warm.” he groans, and Ethan huffs.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Figures."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>They wander closer to the basketball court, where the fireworks are being set off.  ‘At least they’re not stupid enough to light them in the grass,’ Tommy thinks. It hasn’t rained for a few weeks and the dry grass crunches under his feet. Right on the boundary between the grass and the concrete, there are two people talking and gesturing toward the pile of rockets at their feet.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“We should do the big one <em>now</em>,” insists the guy squatting on the grass.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“We do the air bomb now, that's the last one. The cops will definitely come for a boom as big as this,” the girl standing next to him retorts.</p>
</div><div>
<p></p><div><p>The boy studies the rocket in his hands, the biggest one of the pile. He looks up at the girl imploringly as he argues, “C’mon Gina, the cops won’t come for fireworks, they’ve got way better places to be.”</p></div></div><div>
  <p>Gina rolls her eyes and sighs. “For one thing, <em>Ben</em>, fireworks are super illegal in the city, so we're pushing our luck as it is. And two, have you even heard an air bomb go off before?" she says exasperatedly. "It's so loud the police will assume you blew your dumb ass into the sky with some kinda <em>actual bomb</em>!”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>At this point, Ethan interrupts, “I’d listen to her Ben, she worked at one of those tents selling fireworks last summer.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"My uncle's business. In West Virginia. Where these things are barely even <em>legal</em> to sell," she adds.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“But if we don’t use the big one, what’s the point of even coming out here?” Ben asks as he looks up petulantly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Why don’t you set it off last?” Ethan suggests. “You set it off, then we all get the hell out of here.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Ben considers this for a moment with pursed lips, then slowly nods. “Alright,” he agrees. Gina rolls her eyes. Tommy suspects she's said something similar already. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Ben jumps up, suddenly cheerful again. “I’ll just go send up the little ones then!”  He grabs a couple off the smaller rockets and jogs to the middle of the basketball court.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“You do that," she calls back to him, then turns the others.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Who’s your friend?” she says to Ethan, nodding toward Tommy.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>With all the drama of a beauty pageant announcer, he says “May I introduce Mr. Thomas... uh, what's your last name again, man?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Shepherd," Tommy supplies with a roll of his eyes. Three times a week Mr. Fletcher lines them up in alphabetical order to take roll, and he still can't remember that Shepherd comes after Stone.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Mr. Thomas Shepherd!" Ethan finishes. He waves his arms in the air with a theatrical flourish, and looks expectantly at Gina.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Who are you trying to impress?” Tommy says with a snort of laughter. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Ethan shoots him a glare, but Gina chuckles. “Oh I’m impressed,” she says. “Promise. And it’s nice to meet you Thomas.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“It’s Tommy-,” he corrects her, but is drowned out by a sudden sharp crack. Another firework rockets into the sky with in a trail of sparks. Ben and a few other guys cheer, and a second rocket follows close behind.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“So the plan’s to work through all the little ones, then the air bomb?” Tommy asks, his eyes following the latest rocket as it shoots through the air. His gaze is locked on path of light on until it stops, then bursts with a spray of gold and a loud pop.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Then we run,” Ben adds, and the rockets explode.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“You can run, I’m driving out of here, let you be the one to get caught” Gina says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Ethan feigns wounded shock. “Hey, I’m fast, but that’s just cruel to leave me behind with Tommy. Lately he's been running circles around me in gym class, the showoff."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I don’t need to show off to run circles around you,” Tommy replied. “You’re just slow.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He misses the other boy's reply over the noise of several more rockets set off in succession, but the withering look Ethan throws his way says everything. As the each of the rockets explodes in a cacophony of sparks, Ben comes back over towards the small group.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“That’s the last of the small ones,” he calls, and he can’t keep the enthusiasm off his face.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Then let’s get ready to clear out,” Gina says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Then the big one?” Ben asks hopefully.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Then the big one.” Gina says with an indulgent smile.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Ben returns the smile with more excitement, the grabs the last rocket and jogs toward the center of the court again. Gina motions at Tommy and Ethan to get back, so they move twenty or so feet away from the court. Gina goes in the opposite direction and disappears into the shadows where a few cars are parked.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Ben fiddles with the fuse at the base of the rocket. The other guys rush to grab stuff they’d left lying around while watching the smaller fireworks go up.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>There’s an expectant silence as everyone waits for the last firework and Tommy bounces on the balls of his feet. Finally, Ben lets out a whoop and runs toward the group of cars as the rocket shoots into the sky. Tommy follows the trail of sparks as it rises higher and higher. The rocket is just slowing down when the stream of sparks widens into an abrupt explosion of light. They seem to move in slow motion, the colored lights spreading leisurely in a great green spray and coloring the faces of everyone watching from below. The boom comes slowly as well, sounding deep in Tommy’s chest and echoing in his ears.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>It takes a few moments for the sound to fade enough to hear softer noises. But soon enough he can hear car doors slam as people rush to get away before the noise draws unwanted attention. More distantly, he can hear car alarms going off, reacting to the percussive force. Gina calls out a goodbye to Ethan as he and Tommy make a hasty retreat towards the park exit.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>They run and stumble their way through the darkness until they reach the road, then slow to a walk.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“<em>Damn</em> that was huge!” Tommy says. Ethan nods at him, too out of breath to speak.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>A few moments of walking allows Ethan to catch his breath. He then says, “Imagine if you set that off somewhere during the day. You’d freak everyone out, they’d think it was a bomb or something.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Like where?” Tommy asks.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Someplace really public, crowded, freak a lot of people out”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Like the school maybe, get us out of class.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Sure, great idea. Outside the cafeteria, during lunch. I’d make everyone jump at least.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Or in the science lab, by the storage cabinet with all that flammable stuff,” Tommy suggests.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Dude, blow the whole room up! No chem lab for weeks,” Ethan exclaims.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“It’d be hard to get in there to light it though. Alone at least. And you’d want to be alone, otherwise someone might get hurt.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“True, but then again, it’s not like either of us can pull it off, no more fireworks.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Tommy smirks and says, “Yeah, unless you get Gina to call you.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Ethan shoves his arm and is about to reply when sirens sound faintly in the distance. The two boys waste no more time, throwing each other hasty goodbyes as they part at the next intersection. Some of his restless energy finally spent, Tommy decides to head home. He's been out pretty late, so his mother will hopefully be asleep by now.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Nothing much happens in this chapter, but I write what I want. Or rather, my brain comes up with shit and I present it to you in a palatable form. Hope you liked my dialogue practice and heavy handed foreshadowing! Next chapter will be whenever. This story is fully written, but editing and formatting is a bitch and a half.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Countdown Starts at 5:53 AM</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Despite a late night, Tommy wakes up just fine on Tuesday morning. He’s actually awake well before his alarm goes off. Looking at the clock on his nightstand glowing a stupidly early hour, he decides to sleep a while longer, no use getting up before the sun. However, he has more energy than normal for this time of the morning, too much to go back to sleep. He lies there in a haze for what feels like hours and gazes absently out the sliver of window he can see from his bed. The sky is still the dusky dark blue of the hours before dawn, so he knows there's plenty of time for him to get up and get ready. Still, a second glance at the clock surprises him. Fewer than five minutes have passed.</p><p>‘That can’t be right’, he thinks absently. Stepping out of bed, he stretches sleepily in front of the window. He looks outside, and for a moment is transfixed by what he sees. There are birds in the trees on the other side of the parking lot,  hopping from branch to branch  just like you'd expect this time of day. Except, they seem to be performing their morning exercises in slow motion. They're so slow that Tommy could easily catch one if he was up in the tree with them. Confused, he closes the curtain and groggily considers what he just saw. Still stubborn, he decides to ignore it, and just barely resists the urge to open the curtains and look again. </p><p>Leaving his room and wandering through the kitchen and living room, nothing else seems weird. Everything is as still and quiet as would be expected before dawn. He’s walking back toward the bedrooms when his mom walks out of her room. Tommy once again has to stop and stare. He doesn't expect her to be at energetic so early in the morning, but she's inching along with all the speed of a drunken snail. It takes at least a minute for her to even notice Tommy.</p><p>“What are you doing up so early?” she says. At least, that's what he thinks she's saying.</p><p>“What?” he asks, more confused than ever. He’s not certain that she's even asking him a question. She may have said, ‘Good morning Tommy’, or ‘Breakfast isn’t ready yet, go back to bed Tommy’, or anything. Whatever she says is so drawn out into endless syllable that Tommy forgets one word before she gets to the next. He's not known for being attentive in the morning, but this is ridiculous. </p><p>His first guess is probably right. Her light was on when he got back late last night, so she know how late he got home. She's probably just as surprised to see Tommy awake as Tommy is to be awake. This line of thought is broken with his mother’s reply.</p><p>“Never mind,” she says wearily. This time he understands her, if only just. She inches past him toward the living room at a sluggish pace. Tommy, impatient and by now completely weirded out, squeezes past her to go back to the kitchen. As he passes, he catches a glimpse of the start of one of her irritated glares (of which she has a large collection). He doesn't stop to feel the full force of her frown. The last thing he wants this morning is a lecture that takes ten times longer than usual, so he busies himself with breakfast. </p><p>SLAM!</p><p>The cabinet door shuts much more heavily than normal, like he threw it closed. Startled, he almost drops the box of cereal he'd just pulled from the cabinet. To avoid a repeat performance, he’s uncharacteristically careful when he opens and closes the next cabinet to grab a bowl.</p><p>“Having problems Tommy?” he mutters anxiously to himself. He moves extra slowly when grabbing the milk and a spoon. Still, he's already sat down at the small table in the corner and is poured himself a bowl of cereal by the time his mom enters the room.</p><p>“In a hurry today?” she asks. Tommy understands her completely this time, but only by listening closely. She’s still moving slowly, making her way to the coffee maker at a glacial pace. Is she just under-caffeinated?</p><p>“No” he says. His brow furrows with confusion and worry. </p><p>He's finishing his bowl of cereal by the time she's filled the coffee maker with water and grounds. When he returns the milk to the fridge, he accidentally slams it closed hard enough that the cans of soda in the door rattle. His mother shoots him another nasty look.</p><p>‘She must be slipping”, he says to himself as she shuffles across the kitchen. She doesn't usually throw so many glares his way this early in the day. He’s sure she’s going to say something about his detention, but she just lets out a long, tired sigh and sinks heavily into the chair he'd just vacated.</p><p>Somehow still hungry, he pours himself another bowl of cereal and sits in the only other chair at the table. He's even more careful this time, closing the fridge door so gently it feels absurd. He glances at the coffee maker, wondering why the water is taking so long to boil. It still hasn’t boiled by the time he finishes his second helping and puts his bowl in the sink.</p><p>“Is the coffee maker broken?” he asks as his mother gets up from her chair. She gives him a confused look and takes a long time to answer his question. Thinking she didn’t hear him, he is about to ask again when she finally replies.</p><p>“No,” she says, her voice rising up, then down in one long, drawn out syllable. She raises one eyebrow as if to say, 'Are you joking?' but her eyebrow twitches up with the same unhurriedness as her voice. Is she making a joke? Does she think he's joking? It's been a while since Tommy’s used the machine, so maybe that's how it's supposed to work. But he doubts his mother would ever wait that long for coffee every morning. She is far less patient than he is, and he’s been downright manic recently.</p><p>Coffee finally start to drip as she makes her way to the dishdrainer to grab a clean mug. When she finally gets to the coffee maker, she pours the little bit of coffee brewed so far into her cup. The liquid seems viscous; it takes such a long time to flow.</p><p>She must sense Tommy’s eyes on her.  </p><p>“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about your punishment,” she says. Each word comes at a the same glacial pace. “We’ll discuss it after I drive you home from school.” She turns away and grimaces, muttering softly, “Today you decide to wake up early”</p><p>...</p><p>Tommy paces idly around his the small apartment, unused to having so much time before school. Even when he wakes up on his own he rarely has enough time to grab breakfast and dress without rushing.</p><p>Every few steps  he has to dart around his mom as she does her morning routine. Tommy usually sleeps through it all, so it's an unfamiliar dance. It’s not hard to dodge her though, not with how sluggishly she's moving. She seems to be fully awake, but her movements never speed up to match Tommy’s. </p><p>She doesn’t say much as she goes about cooking a breakfast of eggs and toast. The toaster seems to have the same affliction as the coffee maker. The bread takes so long to pop up that Tommy expects it to blacken and smoking, yet the toast eventually comes up browned to perfection.</p><p>Impatient, Tommy even helps her out a bit. He puts dishes in the dishwasher and sorts out his dirty washing for laundry before dropping the basket in front  of the washer. She starts when she sees the clothes, like she hadn't seen him our them there. Has she always been this much of a zoned out zombie in the mornings? </p><p>After and hour that feels like a week, his mother goes into her own room. Tommy still has time, so he rearranges his backpack several times over, even considers working on a math assignment due in a few days. The algebra is put away though; he’s not that bored yet.  He finally just gets himself dressed for school. Pants, jacket, sneakers, he’s got everything. On a normal day he just lounges around in his pajamas until right before he has to leave. Getting dressed is the last thing he does before he's out the door. There is nothing left to do before school but he's way too wired to sit still. Instead he just walks to an fro across hi his bedroom, seven steps towards the bed, seven steps back.</p><p>"I gotta stop pacing like this, crappy carpet's worn enough” he says to himself. At that, he decides to leave early for the bus stop, something that he’s never done before. No chance of missing the bus today.</p><p>He pauses in the doorway and shouts, “I’m heading out Mom.” Not waiting for a reply, he ducks out the apartment, slamming the door behind him. His mother doesn’t catch the words, but pokes her head out of her bedroom door when she hears his voice. She shakes her head and sighs at the crash of the door closing, then goes back to getting ready for work.</p><p>...</p><p>Tommy doesn’t remember much of the bus ride that day. It seems to take far longer than normal, but normal means being half asleep, so it’s hard to know for sure. The wait for the bus though, that was agonizingly long, half asleep or no. The other students on his route walk toward the stop at a snail's pace. It's like they don't want to go to school, which, fair enough. He stands off to one side as they approach, not in the mood for conversation. Still, he’s the first to mount the steps of the bus as it screeches slowly to a halt in front of him. Flopping into a seat, he  glares at anyone looking to sit with him. The bus begins to pull forward  and he closes his eyes. The movement of the bus lulls in him into a light doze, but every pothole jars him back to consciousness. Every time he wakes he thinks they must be at the school by now, but they never are</p><p>As reluctant as he his to go to class, Tommy 's the first one off the bus when they finally get to the school. He walks  to his homeroom, dodging other students like slow icebergs in his path. He's first to arrive, and plops heavily into his assigned death while ignoring the teacher's greeting  Other students filter in and make quiet conversation that fades into the background noise of the day's announcements. Still, he can't help but notice the strange dragging quality of their speech, the same as his mom earlier. He grows even more impatient as the period drags on much longer than the usual ten minutes.</p><p>His first class is more interminable than yesterday. Though he tries to pay attention, he quickly loses the thread of the teacher's lecture. Like everyone else's, her words stretch out into long, leisurely syllables until they lose all meaning. He soon gives up trying to interpret them at all. Instead, he absentmindedly jiggles his leg as he tries his best to not think about anything at all. Especially not his looming detention. It’s pretty stupid after all, to be worried about a simple detention.</p><p>Lunch he skips altogether. He doesn't want to listen to these kids he barely knows exchange banter in slow motion. He spends the time instead in one of the more out-of-the-way bathrooms. It’s the best place to kill time without thinking about time and freaking out. Though the smell is a bit strong in the stall he’s using.  </p><p>“The janitors don’t even come here,” he mutters to himself. His stomach answers with a few impressive grumbles and gurgles. On his way back to class, he scrounges for change and grabs a snack from the machine by the cafeteria. The protein bar he bolts down sits uneasily in his stomach. It doesn’t do much to stave off his hunger, but at this point he’s too agitated to eat much anyway.</p><p>In his afternoon classes he taps his foot incessantly, oblivious to the glares of his classmates. The bells ring and he passes from class to class, trying not to think about his detention. Its only a few extra minutes at school, but he's dreading it. Today, any extra time spent confined to one of these crappy school desks might just drive him crazy.</p><p>‘So stupid,’ he thinks as the tension in his body winds up more and more. ‘It’s really not that big a deal, stop freaking’. This self-reproach doesn’t lessen his apprehension. At some point he stops listening to his teachers altogether, convinced something must be wrong with his ears. ‘Patience’ he says to himself over and over again. His stomach keeps rolling, as much from tension as from hunger.</p><p><br/>
The end of the school day comes, and detention looms. Most of the other kids get to go home, but Tommy has another another ninety minutes to go. The bell rings for the end of his last class and he heaves a weary sigh. He slides from his seat in Mr. Marten’s western civ. class and shuffles down the hall to room 106. Most of the other students go the other way towards the buses and the parking lot, but a few split off from the rowdy crowd. They head the same way as Tommy, to their shared hell.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Those poor fucking kids.</p><p>If you think Tommy's <i>just</i> having an 8-hour long anxiety attack, you would be wrong. See ya next chapter.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Incident Occurs at 3:59 PM</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter is shorter! (:</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As reluctant as he is to be there, Tommy is still still the first to reach  detention. He hesitates in the doorway for a moment, then moves aside as another student wearing an ugly sneer shoves past him. He's shorter than Tommy but broader in the shoulder, and has a reputation for aggression. What's his name again? Donny?</p>
<p>“Move it, Shepherd, some of us got places to be,”  the boy drawls. Looking back at Tommy, he asks, “What’re you in for today?”</p>
<p>“Late to class."</p>
<p>“Shit, that’s all?” </p>
<p>Tommy walks after him into the room. "Three strikes policy makes 'em act like a tardy is a gateway drug to shooting up the place I guess," he says.</p>
<p>“Were you too fuckin’ busy bleaching your roots to go to class?" Donny asks. His expression twists into one of amusement, and seeing it in slow motion is almost nauseating.</p>
<p>“Volume” Mr. Carson says tersely from the doorway. He strides into the room behind the boys. “Take your seats,” he commands. His voice has the same lagging distortion as every other voice Tommy’s heard today, and does his best to ignore it.</p>
<p>“Surprised you even came to school just for this”, the boy replied as he turned to sit near the back of the room. “Heard you were out late last night,” he added in a low voice, Tommy just barely able to make out the softly slurred words.</p>
<p>Tommy straightens up and frowns a the boy. “I didn't do shit, what did you-“</p>
<p>“Sit” Mr. Carson interrupts, and points to a seat at the front of the room, right in front of the teacher's desk. Tommy scowls at the man's obvious intention to keep an eye on him. Him, the terminally tardy, not the teenage asshole smirking in the back.</p>
<p>If he ignores the teacher and sits elsewhere, he’ll just get more attention. There’s no point to disobeying. Mr. Carson looks on sternly as Tommy sits down and dumps his backpack on the floor.</p>
<p>“You sure look happy to see me” Tommy mutters to himself as he slouches further into his seat. He fidgets as Mr. Carson recites a list of rules that the bored teenagers are to live by for the next ninety minutes. It's the same spiel Tommy’s heard in every detention he’s suffered through. He has it pretty much memorized by now, so he ignores Mr. Carson until the final words.</p>
<p>“Now, get out your homework, or sit <em>quietly</em>. No phones or non-school related materials are allowed; they will be confiscated. No sleeping either, you don’t get to snooze through the lesson you’re supposed to learn by being here.” Tommy wants to laugh at the last bit, doubtful that he'd be able to sleep under the teacher’s vigilant eye. Maybe with a triple dose of his mom's sleeping pills.</p>
<p>‘Took enough to sleep through me getting in last night, thank fuck,’ he thinks, grateful to have her reprimand postponed. He sighs and digs for his algebra notes. Maybe he can actually do his math homework for once instead of begging to copy someone else's. The notebook retrieved, he shuffles through all the papers stuffed into it. He finds his assignment and flattens it on the desk, but he can't think of where to start. He stares at it until the assigned equations swim on the page.</p>
<p>‘Screw it, I can’t do numbers now’ he thinks to himself. He closes the notebook and crams it back into his bag. There’s a book he’s supposed to be reading for English, so he again rummages through his bag. He finds the book and opens it roughly, making the spine crack. He spends even less time looking at the text than he did at his math homework. He speed reads, his eyes blurring over the text until he realizes he’s not absorbing anything.  </p>
<p>He slams the book closed, and Mr. Carson gives him a sharp look. “What did I say about volume Mr. Shepherd?”</p>
<p>“Sorry” Tommy replies, “Can’t concentrate.” He gives a sheepish smile, but it looks more like a grimace.</p>
<p>Quiet, Tommy can do quiet. He puts his book back in his bag and tries to just sit there, but without anything to occupy his mind he has to do something. He starts tapping his foot, but winces at the noise it makes against the hard tile floor. Instead, he settles for jiggling his leg like he’s done in most his classes today. None of his teachers cared. It’s not until the desk starts to vibrate with the shaking that Mr. Carson objects.</p>
<p>“Sit still Mr. Shepherd!” he says, looking almost offended at the intensity of the the boy's fidgeting. Tommy gets a pained look on his face at the demand, but tries to stop anyway. He settles for tapping his fingers on the desktop.</p>
<p>As he taps, he tried not to think about anything, to just zone out until the hour and half is up. It doesn’t work though; he can’t make his mind drift. He’s trapped in the present moment, and can’t help but feel every second as it passes. So he stares at his hands as they jerk against the desk.</p>
<p>‘I should have eaten more lunch,’ he thinks suddenly. He's just noticed how lightheaded he is, though his mind moves no slower. And his hands, they’re twitching almost faster than he can see! He stills his hands and looks up, glancing at the clock mounted over Mr. Carson’s head. It shows 3:40 in the afternoon. Only ten minutes have passed! He glares at the clock, willing it to move faster. The second hand makes travels ever so slowly around the face of the clock. It's almost like it's ... decelerating?</p>
<p>‘It stopped!’ his mind shouts at him, and he freezes in shock. It seems like whole minutes pass before the hand moves again. Tommy breaks his stare and stands up. He slams his palms down on the desktop and blurts out a desperate question.</p>
<p>“CanIgotothebathroom?”</p>
<p>A look of confusion rises on Mr. Carson’s face. “W-h-a-t-?” he asks, the word inching out of his mouth.</p>
<p>Tommy says it again, more slowly this time. He stretches out the words and enunciates every syllable like he’s talking to a small child.</p>
<p>“Can-I-go–to-the-bath-room?”</p>
<p>Mr. Carson replies with a slow shake of his head, and tries to say something. It starts, “No, this is detention, you…”, but Tommy doesn’t hear the rest. He’s distracted by a rattling, and looks around for the source of the noise. He finds it when he glances down at his hands where they grip the desk. They’re vibrating so fast that he can't even see them, and the entire desk is rocking under his palms.</p>
<p>Now the rest of the room seems to notice that something’s wrong, and the students closest to him lean away. Looks of alarm gradually rise on their faces.</p>
<p>Tommy raises his hand to his eyes as he backs away from the desk. The other students scatter around him as  he stumbles backwards, his whole body shaking. One of his legs catches on another desk and he instinctively grabs at it as he falls.</p>
<p>As he grasps the top of the desk, Tommy starts to feel a eerie sensation, even stranger than the vibration. The desk in his grip isn't just vibrating, but seems to be resonating. A low thrum fills the room as the desk, then the floors, then  the walls, all began to move in the exactly the same way. Tommy’s surprise and dismay give way to fascination. He’s the one making this happen. Is he the source of this, this <em>power</em>? Can he control it?</p>

<p></p><div>
  <p>“Awesome,” he says softly, though with some trepidation. He can’t stop what he’s doing, or at least he doesn’t know how. So, he does the next best thing. He lays on more power, a stronger, <em>faster</em> vibration. It feels like the whole earth is shaking under his hands. How much <em>more</em> can he do?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The others in the room make moves as if to run, but only a few go for the door. After all, only a couple seconds have passed since the shaking started. The rest look around at the shaking walls and appear frozen. The entire world threatens to shake apart around them. </p>
  <p>Then, the hum of the building’s shaking reaches a higher pitch. He feels the power in his hands surge, and what happened next is too fast for even him to react.</p>
  <p>Tommy feels the something settle. In an instant, building goes from shaking but standing, to tiny bits of rubble and dust flying through the air. There’s a shockwave that knocks him off his feet, and sends the other students and Mr. Carson flying. His vision blurs. Before his senses go out completely, he hears screaming.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Did I take long enough to get to the good part or did you want another two chapters or ramping up the tension? Next chapter: <i>consequences</i>.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. An Acceleration of Gravity</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He wakes up, and there's a scent like dirt… and crushed cinder blocks…a choking concrete dust. </p><p>With brief consciousness, sound comes back in fits and starts. He hears a quiet moaning… but who?… It’s already growing far away.</p><p>“… was intentional?… arson …”</p><p>“… wounded, one dead …”</p><p>“… centered on … first floor … room …”</p><p>He sinks down again...</p><p>...</p><p>Tommy lingers in unconsciousness for hours, slowly rising to awareness. He's in a bed, under a blanket. He lingers at the point just before he wakes up, unwilling rise fully. His eyes finally flicker when he hears faint noise. The sound isn't familiar and filters oddly through the thin walls of a dark room. But there's an antiseptic smell, and it's cold. Under the blanket he's not wearing his clothes from this morning, but some sort of tunic, a hospital gown? Is he in a hospital room?</p><p>The lights are turned off, leaving the room to be dimly lit by scattered LEDs. There's a skinny line of brightness peeking under the door and shadows move across it as people pass by the door.</p><p> Words become clear as a few voices grow nearer to the door. Hearing them, he wishes he could knock himself out again.</p><p>“He’s been like this since the explosion, Mrs. Shepherd,” one of the muffled voices says. Tommy tries, but can’t go back to sleep. Distantly he wonders why the words seem to come so slowly and from so far away.</p><p>‘What happened,’ he asks himself, and the next moment, ‘What did I do?’ </p><p>The questions drift up through his mind accompanied by a mix of guilt and foreboding. And anger? Anger over what? He digs his elbows into the hard hospital cot to prop himself up, but can't think. His mind still too fuzzy.</p><p>"It’s been almost a day and you told me he isn’t even badly injured. He should be awake by now, shouldn’t he?” He recognizes his mother’s strident voice, sounding even more strained than normal. What did he do to weigh her words down with that weary tone? She sounds she’s more tired than usual even considering how <em>slow</em> they're both talking. Whatever weirdness happening earlier must still be going on. The voices pause at the door, and Tommy can see the shadows of their legs from under it.</p><p>“With what the authorities told me, it may be entirely normal for him to sleep for a while after the accident. As far as we know…,” The voice softens.<br/>
“…only unconscious, unlike the others. If ... should wake up soon, you can talk to him then, Mrs. Shepherd” the first voice says.</p><p>The door opens, and all the noise of the hospital rolls in with the same distortion he's been hearing all day. The light clicks on as a man in a doctor’s white coat enters, followed by a man with with a hard face and dark clothes. His mother trails behind the men into the room, her face strained.</p><p>‘Is she worried about me?’ Tommy thinks as drags himself fully upright. His brow wrinkles as he tries to remember. What could have caused her to be so concerned for her son? It’s out of character for her to show this much <em>care</em>.</p><p>“Awake?” the doctor exclaims at seeing Tommy sitting up. With a glance to Tommy’s mother. “Hard to keep your boy down!” he says with a bright smile. The attempt at reassurance doesn’t work, and her frown deepens at his tone. It occurs to Tommy that she may not be worried about him. The other man just glances briefly around the room before looking back at the doctor.</p><p>“Hello Tommy, I’m Dr. Nester,” the doctor says, his smile dimming. “Now, do you remember what happened?”</p><p>Hesitantly, Tommy answers. “No, I was late, I had detention …” His voice falters as he tries to recall.</p><p>“There was an explosion, do you remember that?” the doctor offers gently, and Tommy’s scowls. A flash of guilt, and his heart rate ticks up as the memory surfaces. An explosion, and the sounds of people screaming, and running away ... from him. The memory must have shown on his face because the other man steps forward and flashes a badge. A detective? Or some kind of federal agent?</p><p>“The other students, the teacher, <em>they</em> remember what happened.” The man's eyes come to bore into him. Tommy looks away and his shoulders tense up. A soft rattling noise starts up, but no but Tommy seems to notice it.</p><p>"Something blew up...," he says uncertainly.</p><p>“Can you tell us anything about it?”</p><p>“I didn’t do anything,” Tommy shoots out.</p><p>He must have spoken a little too quickly for the taste of the man, who frowns and says, “The others say you did”</p><p>“And you believe them,” his mother interjects, and the faint rattling noise grows louder.</p><p>“The witness’s agree, they say they saw him--”</p><p>“I know what they said, about how he did it,” his mother interrupts tersely. “They’re wrong, he doesn’t have any, um, abilities like that.”</p><p>‘Like you would know’, Tommy thinks venomously.</p><p>“The other students saw him, the teacher saw him, the way he was acting.”<br/>
 <br/>
“No.”</p><p>“He was vibrating ma’am,” the man states bluntly. “There was some sort of energy in that room that <em>caused</em> that explosion, and it was coming from <em>him</em>.”</p><p>“Are you trying to tell me he’s some sort of , of…”</p><p>“Mutant, Mrs, Shepherd,” the doctor confirms. “We’ve sent blood samples out for testing."</p><p>Tommy's pretty sure that testing his blood for that while he's unconscious is some kind of a civil rights violation, but he’s too frazzled to care. Anxious and tired even with that energy from before still buzzing under his skin, and the shock at the word <em>mutant</em>, and that <em>noise</em>. There’s an interminable stretch of silence as his mother and the police officer look at him. His whole body tenses further under their gaze.</p><p>The doctor breaks the silence. "Its standard procedure in these types of accidents, I assure you,” he reassures.</p><p>“<em>No</em>,” his mother says again, with more force this time, her weariness gone for the moment. “He can’t be, Frank and I, we never, he’s never shown anything like this before.”</p><p>“I know it must be a shock--”</p><p>“What the hell,” Tommy interjects, tired of the adults talking over his head. His mom and the doctor startle, like they'd forgotten he was there. Then they all stare at him.</p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>“Calm down,” says the man with the badge. Tommy looks downs to sees his hand shaking where it grips the metal railing of the bed.</p>
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  <p>“Calm down,” the man says again. Tommy sees that his hand is actually shaking the whole bed, and <em>quickly</em>. It's vibrating just like-</p>
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  <p>A flash of alarm makes him rip his hand from the railing. When the noise stops, the others in the room relax. Tommy doesn't.</p>
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  <p>“Good, good,” the man soothes, his gaze darting between Tommy and his mother. Before anyone can say anything else, the door suddenly opens to reveal a woman dressed in a dark suit.</p>
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  <p>“You can’t be in here,” the doctor says, startled. The man with the badge shifts to face the woman with a sharp look. She raises her eyebrows at the tension in the room, then strides through the door anyway, her heels clicking on the tile floor. Another man slips quietly in behind her, Tommy's father. His expression is serious but otherwise betrays no emotion.</p>
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  <p>“I’m afraid I can,” the woman says as she walks toward Tommy sitting up in his bed, glancing at his mom where she stands beside him. </p>
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  <p>“I’m his lawyer,” she says, and his mom's face hardens at the words.</p>
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  <p>“Frank,” she says flatly to her ex-husband. He says nothing, and the lawyer nods.</p>
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  <p>“Mr. Shepherd has hired me to represent Tommy,” she says. “His father believes that I should be present while you speak with him."</p>
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  <p>“He’s not being charged--,” the man with the badge replies, but she interjects.</p>
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  <p>“Then you should leave my client to recover,” she says, the doctor nodding in agreement.</p>
</div><p>“…Yet,” the man says, “He hasn’t been charged yet.” His threat hangs in the air, and in those few moments of quiet Tommy's heart beats fast and loud.</p><p>“Then leave,” the lawyer declares. The man does just that, walking slowly out of the room, his eyes never leaving Tommy</p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>“We’ll be in touch,” he says, then he's gone.</p>
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  <p>The door closes with a soft click, and a somber quiet weighs heavily on the room. All the adults in the room stand still as the seriousness of the situation sinks in more fully. Tommy is the exception as he shifts his feet to the floor. He feels lightheaded with with a mixture of anger and fear as he toes at the hospital slippers left beside his bed.</p>
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  <p>“They can’t charge him with anything,” Tommy’s mother says hurriedly. “Like I said, He can’t have done what they said.”</p>
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  <p>“There isn’t always a family history-“ the doctor begins, but his mother interrupts abruptly.</p>
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  <p>“<em>My son is not a mutant</em>,” she bursts out, her voice going high-pitched and breathless. His father takes in a quick breath, and the deep lines in his forehead become more pronounced. The doctor’s lips tense.</p>
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  <p>“And he wouldn’t have wanted to hurt anyone,” his mother adds, an afterthought.</p>
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  <p>The lawyer puts a hand on Mrs. Shepherd’s arm, only for her to snatch the limb back. Tommy’s father hasn’t spoken a word since he entered the room, but now he moves forward as the lawyer speaks.</p>
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  <p>“We must consider the possibility that he is, in fact, a mutant." she says. "As a mutant he might have the ability to ... cause whatever happened."</p>
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  <p>Mr. Shepherd nods at the lawyer's words like he's about to say something himself, but--</p>
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  <p>“Stop talking about me like I’m not here!,” Tommy shouts as he shoots to his feet. The others each take a few steps back, startled. It's not his words that stun them, but the loud snap of the handcuff breaking. </p>
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  <p>Tommy looks at his wrist, then the arm of the bed, each with one half of a handcuff left dangling. He panics at his unintentional show of force and instinct kicks in. Before the others even realize the source of the noise, he's run from the room. </p>
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  <p>He dashes right past the man with the badge still standing outside the door. Nurses and doctors flinch and shriek as Tommy dodges haphazardly around them, gown flapping. He rubs his wrist as he jumps over and around gurneys and carts.</p>
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  <p>As he runs, Tommy remembers something he learned once, that the faster you move, the harder you hit. A half remembered science lesson pops into his head. <em>Force = mass x acceleration.</em></p>
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  <p>“I must have gone so <em>fast</em> to break the chain,” he says giddily to himself. Distracted, he slams into a wall. Now there's a pain in his shoulder to match the one in his wrist.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Still, he runs, his panic gone for now, and he revels in the speed, the <em>power</em>. Bursting through one final door, he slides to a halt in the parking lot behind the hospital. Gravel flies out from under his skidding slippered feet.</p>
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  <p>He pants, but less from the exertion and more from the rush of emotion. Standing still, his memories catch up with him, and his satisfaction at using his powers turns sour in his stomach. The explosion, the screaming. Had anyone been hurt? He thought he heard-- had someone <em>died</em>?</p>
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  <p>“It was me, they--,” he starts “I didn’t <em>know</em>.” The words stutter in his mouth.</p>
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  <p>‘You didn’t care,’ the thought rises quietly in his mind. This power is exhilarating even with the strange effects on his perception, but if that's what happens when he uses it...</p>
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  <p>He stands there and looks down at his hands. He's frozen with this mixture of emotion and blind to the stares of people in scrubs staring at him warily, whispering. None of them dared to approach him, having seen his explosive exit from the building. A few minutes later, several security officers arrive and the spectators step aside.  They're followed the man with the badge and Tommy’s new lawyer. His parents follow. They arrive just as several cruisers and a police van pull into the lot.</p>
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  <p>Tommy is quiet, still staring at his hands as they're cuffed in front of him. As the still humming thrum of his power fades, he doesn’t resist as they load him roughly into the van.</p>
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<p></p><div><p>‘What did I do?’ The thought races through Tommy’s mind again and again, a terrible song on repeat. Every time he's been in trouble before, seems so small compared to this.</p></div><div><p>He doesn’t fully register the police approaching him at the hospital, or the officers hauling him up and loading him into the van. What he does remember are the strange handcuffs locked around his wrists. They’re thicker than the pair from the hospital room, and they weigh heavy on his wrists.</p></div><div><p>“Power dampeners,’ he thinks, and it’s true that the world has slowed down some, if not back to normal. And that deadly explosive power, that’s gone too, or at least out of reach. Part of Tommy is grateful for them. He doesn't want to hurt ... or <em>kill</em> any more people.</p></div><div><p>The ride is bumpy, and it feels like a long time before the journey ends. Tommy is startled from his rumination when the van reaches it's destination. There's a short walk to the building. He stumbles around wherever the officers direct him, running through some sort of booking procedure.</p></div><div><p>"Stand here," a man says, and he stares around stupidly. "Look there, at the light."</p></div><div><p>Another room, another man says, "Put your thumb right there." And Tommy presses each of his fingers to a piece of paper, one by one. They give him a wipe, and his hands twist in in the cuffs as he tries to rub the ink from his hands.</p></div><div><p>Yet another room, and he’s handed a set of loose clothes in a dingy gray and told to change. Then he's shoved into a cell, alone. They don't take the cuffs off before they close the door.</p></div><div><p>Staring blankly at the stained white tile of the walls, Tommy considers the trouble he’s in. The shock and anxiety is wearing off, and a sinking dread is taking its place.</p></div><div><p>“You screwed up <em>enormously</em> Shepherd,” he whispers to himself. “Getting a bit ambitious jumping straight to murder-." He cuts himself off roughly and corrects his words.</p></div><div><p>“Not murder.”</p></div><div><p>
      <em>An accident</em>
    </p></div><div><p>“A ... an accident, not my fault. I didn’t <em>know</em>!” With these rising words, his face starts to twist in pain, and his mouth snaps shut. Lips pressed together and head bowed, Tommy wonders desperately just how he can explain.</p></div><div><p>“An accident,” he whispers. “I have to make them understand.” Suddenly, this overhead lights go out, their fluorescent glow slowly powering down. Tommy can’t see a thing; he hadn’t realized how late it was getting. It’s lights out, he guesses, though there's a faint glow from the window in the door of his cell. As if summoned by the darkness, exhaustion comes over Tommy in a wave, and he gives into it.</p></div><div><p>Pulling his sock-covered feet onto the thin cot he’s been sitting on, he shivers. The cold of the concrete floor has seeped up his legs and into his bones. He curls up on the cot and soon sinks into an uneasy sleep.</p></div></div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I forgot exactly where I was going to split this work from the next, so 5, 6, 7, chapters? IDK. Subscribe to the series if you want to be sure to catch what comes next. I'm also absolutely never ever completely satisfied with what I write, especially in this chapter so comments are encouraged! Please limit criticism to stuff I can easily fix. Goddamn those fucking verb tense errors.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The First Day of the Rest of Your Life</h2></a>
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    <p>Tommy wakes up when the light comes on in a a blast of white, his eyes opening in a squint against the glare. His mind is still fuzzy from sleep when a tray clangs through a slot in the door.</p>
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  <p>Suddenly ravenous, he grabs the tray.  Breakfast is lukewarm scrambled eggs and overdone toast with a cafeteria carton of milk. He bolts it down, barely taking time to breathe.</p>
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  <p>'When did I last eat, even?' he thinks.</p>
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  <p>Chugging the last drops of milk, his hunger fades, leaving room for some of last night's dread. The police are sure to want to talk to him. Really, what can he say? He hadn't planned on blowing up the school, but he's a teenager. He'd fantasized. Not like he knew he'd be <em>able</em> to do the deed.</p>
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  <p>"They're not going to believe me," he mutters to himself. Anxiety churns in his stomach and he wishes he hadn't eaten so fast.</p>
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  <p>It's not long after the meal when he hears a rattling at the door, and it opens with a low creak. A police officer is standing outside the cell and he looks pointedly at Tommy.</p>
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  <p>"Up and at 'em kid," he says, and Tommy slowly rises to his feet and moves toward the door. The officer steps aside to let Tommy through the doorway.</p>
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  <p>"That way, kid" He points down the hall, and falls a step behind Tommy as they begin to walk.</p>
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  <p>By this time, Tommy's realized that he's still ticking along a bit faster then he was a few days ago. He's not even close to where he was, but quick enough.</p>
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  <p>'So these things really work," he muses, looking down at his cuffed hands. He hadn't noticed the cuffs' effect earlier. The shock of the past couple days has made his perception of time more than a little fuzzy.</p>
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<p></p><div><p>This line of thought is broken when the officer grabs his shoulder roughly. He'd stopped, but Tommy's momentum had kept him moving. To the left there's a gray metal door.</p></div><div><p>'Still faster than you,' he thinks and chuckles, but the officer ignores him. Instead, the man pulls out a ring of keys and unlocks the a metal door. The man spits our a few gruff orders.</p></div><div><p>"Go in, sit down, don't move,"  he says as he shoves Tommy into the small gray room. Everything in this place is gray. All that's in the room is a metal table and two matching chairs. The door shuts heavily behind him, and Tommy can hear the scrape of a key in the lock from the other side.</p></div><div><p>Tommy snorts as the man's footsteps fade. It looks like he's waiting for someone, so he settles into the chair closest to the door. He tries to cross his arms on the table, but the chain on his handcuffs is too short. The only other comfortable position he can find is to lean forward and rest his weight on his elbows. He sighs, and lets his head fall forward into his hands.</p></div><div><p>"They make you wait on purpose," he mutters, a bit muffled.</p></div><div><p>He sits like that for a while, mind racing with unpleasant thoughts of jail cells and explosions. The thoughts multiply; he can't outrun them. He taps his feet on the floor, light and nervous and  inhumanly quick. It's still hard to keep track of time, so he's unsure how many minutes pass before he again hears the rattle of keys. He lifts his head from his hands and sees the lawyer from the hospital walk into the room, followed by his parents. His mother's forehead is tense with stress, his fathers mouth is a thin line. Neither of them looks like they've slept much. They maintain a careful distance from each other while standing stiffly near the door. The lawyer isn't so shy; she moves to stand by the chair across the table from Tommy.</p></div><div><p>"Can we get two more chairs please?," she calls to someone just outside the room. There's an unintelligible answer, and footsteps leading away. His parents stare at the door, following the sound, but the lawyer turns to Tommy and smiles. It's not a particularly happy smile, but it's more than he's had all day.</p></div><div><p>"Good morning Thomas," she says.</p></div><div>
<p></p><div><p>"It's Tommy, and it's not really a good morning." he says wryly, and his father scowls.</p></div><div><p>The lawyer's smile turns to a grimace as she concedes, "I guess not." There's a pause before she continues with a more serious expression. "I didn't get a chance to introduce myself yesterday, Tommy. I'm Ms. Mirandes, and your father hired me to represent you while we sort out what happened the other day."</p></div><div><p>She pauses, as if to leave for Tommy to speak, but he just jerks his head in a nod. Speaking more quickly now, she continues. "As soon as the officer comes back with a couple more chairs, we're going to talk about what happened Tuesday. And what's going to happen from here on." She glances at his parents, who stand a bit straighter under her gaze.</p></div><div><p>Tommy is saved from responding to this by the arrival of a uniformed man with two folding chairs. It's the same officer who brought Tommy to the interview room. He's about to set the chairs by the door before the lawyer stops him.</p></div><div><p>"Set them down right here," she requests, gesturing to the side of the table to Tommy's right. The officer sighs and walks brusquely past Tommy's parents, who startle and move aside. The officer unfolds the chairs and plops them down with a careless clatter. Then, he's gone, shoving the door closed behind him. Tommy's parents each take a chair and sit, leaving a large gap between their seats.</p></div><div><p>Ms. Mirandes's face turns serious as she speaks. "The police will want to ask you about Tuesday. Before they arrive I would like you to describe to me what happened as best as you can remember."</p></div><div><p>Tommy fidgets in his chair for a moment, but takes a deep breath and begins to speak. "Well, the day was normal, it just went by really slowly. Then I ... I had detention, and I was super stressed about it, and I got there and couldn't concentrate on anything. Everything was still so fu- friggin' slow, and-." His voice breaks off as he relives the anxiety.</p></div><div><p>"Go on," Ms. Mirandes encourages with a gentle voice.</p></div><div><p>Tommy's voice shudders as he continues. "And then I started, um, vibrating or something, then the desk, and it felt ... I felt better, It felt good." He pauses again, then says all in a rush, "But I didn't know it would happen, I didn'tthinkitwouldalljustblowup!" The last few words come louder, and in a rush. It takes the others a moment to respond. Before they can, there's a knock at the door.</p></div><div><p>There's no time to answer the knock before the door opens. The detective from the hospital walks in, another man in a suit behind him. They close the door behind them and move to arrange themselves on either side of the room.</p></div><div>
<p></p><div><p>"Hello again Mr. Shepherd," says the man to Tommy's left, the one from the hospital. Tommy doesn't reply, just glares down at his cuffed hands. The detective smirks and continues. "I'm Detective Wallace, and this is Detective Munroe." He gestures to the suited man standing to Tommy's right, next to his parents.</p></div><div><p>Detective Munroe leans down and speaks softly to Tommy. "We need to know what happened on Tuesday, Mr. Shepherd."</p></div><div><p>"It was an accident,” Tommy replies, almost too quickly to be understood.</p></div><div><p>"So you were responsible for the explosion," Detective Wallace retorts.</p></div><div><p>Tommy sputters back a reply, "I, uh, I guess, but I didn't know anything would explode."</p></div><div><p>"He's a mutant," his lawyer interjects. "We think the explosion was the first manifestation of his powers." Tommy’s father stiffens in his seat when he hears this, but say nothing.</p></div><div><p>“Of course, that makes sense,” Detective Munroe says. “He can’t control it, like a tic.”</p></div><div><p>“A tic that killed at least one person and demolished a good chunk of the school building,” comes Detective Wallace’s pointed reply.</p></div><div><p>The tension in Tommy's chest ratchets up. He'd <em>killed</em> somebody. His gaze quickly darts around to the others in the room, but they don't look surprised. They already knew. He looks down at his bound hands again, and swallows.</p></div><div><p>Detective Munroe sees his expression. He adds kindly, "But, I'll think you'll be happy to know that your friend, what was his name again Adam?"</p></div><div><p>"Eddie, Ethan, something like that," the other detective answers.</p></div><div><p>"Yeah, Ethan, he survived without a scratch," Detective Munroe finishes.</p></div><div><p>'A friend?' Tommy thinks. 'Was Ethan even <em>there</em>?' takes a moment for him to find the words. "That's ... good."</p></div><div><p>Detective Wallace huffs a humorless laugh. He says, "Its great actually, because your friend had a lot to tell us about you." Then he leans down close to Tommy and adds," especially about what went on Monday night."</p></div><div><p>His lawyer sits up and frowns at the detective's revelation. The words give Tommy a moment's panic as he wonders what the detective is talking about. 'Nothing <em>happened</em> that night,' he frets.</p></div><div><p>His mother rubs her forehead and moans, "What did you do Monday night, Tommy?"</p></div><div><p>"Yes, what <em>did </em>you do that night Mr. Shepherd?" Detective Munroe echoes, a look of concern arranged on his face.</p></div><div><p>"I ... went out," Tommy answers, turning his face away from the detective.</p></div><div><p>"But what did you do? Where did you go?" Detective Munroe prods.</p></div><div><p>"I was looking for a party," Tommy replies, adding silently, 'I <em>normally</em> know where to find them."</p></div><div><p>"But you couldn't find on on a Monday night, so what'd you do then."</p></div><div><p>"He went to the park," Detective Wallace says before Tommy can answer. He then turns to Tommy and inquires. "What do you do at the park, hook up with some girl, maybe find a dealer?"</p></div><div><p>"Get to the point, detective." Ms. Mirandes interjects.</p></div><div><p>"No," Tommy snaps back defensively. Before the detectives can push, he continues. "And there was only the one girl, some guy's girlfriend"</p></div><div><p>"Yeah, your friend Ethan told us," Detective Wallace replies in an offhand way. He adds, " He told us those guys were setting off fireworks, which is illegal to do in the city by the way."</p></div><div><p>Tommy almost rolls his eyes. Instead he responds, "Yeah, well some guy had 'em left over from New Year's or something. I just watched."</p></div><div><p>"Just watched?"</p></div><div><p>"Hung out, talked to people, sh- stuff like that."</p></div><div><p>Detective Wallace's expression hardened as he responds, "We heard what you talked about."</p></div><div><p>"What did Ethan tell you?" Tommy asks, his frustration beginning to show through.</p></div><div><p>"He said that <em>you</em> were the one suggested using the bigger fireworks to make an explosion at school."</p></div><div><p>Tommy looks at the detectives, slightly dumbfounded. Seeing his confusion, Detective Munroe continues. "You said you would blow up the school if you could."</p></div><div><p>"It was a joke!" Tommy cries.</p></div><div><p>"It stops being a joke when people <em>die</em> Mr. Shepherd!" Detective Wallace snaps back.</p></div><div><p>"I didn't know I actually <em>could</em> blow up the school when I said that!</p></div><div><p>"So it was a coincidence then?"</p></div><div><p>"If Tommy says it was a coincidence, then it was." his lawyer interrupts finally, standing up to address the detectives. "Now would you like to tell us what you're charging my client with?"</p></div><div>
<p></p><div><p>Detective Munroe replies. "If it was an accident then he'll go through juvenile court, probably for manslaughter. However, he could be tried as an adult for something more serious. <em>If</em> it wasn't accidental."</p></div><div><p>"You have no proof of intent," Ms. Mirandes bites back.</p></div><div><p>"No proof? Not yet," says Detective Wallace.</p></div><div><p>"Good to know," she replies, narrowing her eyes. "If you don't mind, I would like to speak with my client and his parents about this." When they make no move to leave, she tilts her head and says firmly, "Alone."</p></div><div><p>The detectives take their their leave, the door clanging shut behind them. Ms. Mirandes sinks into her seat and sighs, while Tommy shoulder sink deeper.</p></div><div><p>After the detectives leave the room, both his parents are bursting with things to say. His mother is fretting over Tommy: what he'll be accused of, what his record will look like. His father spends a few minutes sputtering over the fact that Tommy's a mutant. Then he asks if it would be possible to 'fix' him, as if that would undo what he's already done with his powers. Tommy zones out of the conversation, suddenly exhausted. Its just as well, as there's nothing more he can say.</p></div><div><p>Soon enough, the conversation between his parents  devolves into a bickering match. Ms. Mirandes looks increasingly irritated at having to playing referee.</p></div><div><p>He's used to the arguments from before the separation, so he doesn't pay any attention to the back and forth. He's almost fallen into a doze when Ms. Mirandes calls a halt to the meeting.</p></div><div><p>"Enough," she says wearily. "We can't do anything else until the hearing tomorrow when we can talk to the judge."</p></div><div><p>With reluctance, his parents stop arguing. Tommy says little as Ms. Mirandes goes over what they'll be expected to do tomorrow. She tells him that he won't even be in the room for most of the hearing. He stops listening, instead fidgeting with the cuffs still locked onto his wrists.</p></div><div><p>Now that they're no longer snipping at each other, his parents are all too happy to leave. They barely acknowledge Tommy as they exit the room. As exhausted as he is, he doesn't care, and sleepwalks back to his austere cell. He's missed lunch, so he falls immediately into a fitful sleep. When dinner comes he eats it mechanically, and tries to sleep again. He's not used to sleeping so much, but his exhaustion makes it easy. Unable to rest comfortably on the thin mattress, he tosses and turns throughout the night.</p></div></div></div></div></div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Meant to post this earlier, but this last week was just. A week, ya know? Enjoy, kudos, comment, etc. One more short chapter, then on to the next in the series, a bit of a breather. The one after that, not so much.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The Second Day of the Rest of Your Life</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The light kicks on the next morning and jolts Tommy back to awareness. He'd never even noticed the light going off last night. Breakfast comes again, the same poor fare as before. He can't bring himself to eat this time, and a guard takes away the picked at tray. The man is back only minutes later to escort him to his hearing.</p>
<p>The guard shepherds him along several more hallways, to a different part of the building than where they took him yesterday. The halls change from scuffed tile and cinder block painted a dingy white to worn marble and drywall painted a light cream. Eventually they get to a hallway lined with sets of heavy-looking wooden double-doors and equally sturdy wooden benches. Ms. Mirandes, the lawyer Tommy's dad hired, is there waiting for him. She barely looks up as she nods a greeting at him. She's thumbing through a thin file, his file he assumes.</p>
<p><br/>"You'll wait here," Ms. Mirandes says, waving absently toward one of the benches. The guard leans against the wall next to the bench and glances at Tommy as if to reinforce her words. He sinks onto the hard bench, sullenly avoiding the man's gaze. The lawyer then strides through the double doors. A man in a suit is standing just inside the room and shuts the doors firmly behind her. Tommy's left alone with the guard, who's now staring at the wall with an air of complete and utter boredom. </p>
<p><br/>Tommy tries to settle down for what's undoubtedly going to be a long wait, but he has far less patience and far more anxiety than the guard. Despite all his efforts to stay cool and collected, he can't help squirming with nervous energy and ruminating on this whole fucked up situation. It was his fucking mutant abilities that had gotten him here in the first place. Should be awesome, right? Able to blow stuff up and run faster than  most people can think. He scoffs at the idea. In reality, his explosive powers are uncontrollable, and the speed...</p>
<p><br/>"That part wasn't so bad," Tommy mumbles to himself. He glances tentatively at the officer set to guard him. It's not like he can do anything with his hands locked in these power-dampening handcuffs. The man seems to sense his gaze and shoots a look at the boy, but Tommy's already looked away. Staring at the cuffs, Tommy realizes that they'e only come off once since his arrest at the hospital. That was just to move his hands to the front to fingerprint him. </p>
<p><br/>'Guess they don't care about the chafing," Tommy muses, but he understands why. He's already proven how destructive he is without the cuffs. They don't shut down his powers completely, but they keep the most dangerous aspect of them out of reach. He's can't help but be a bit grateful for that. As uncertain as his future is, at least he doesn't have worry about blowing up stuff when definitely doesn't want to.</p>
<p><br/>He's still shifting restlessly on the bench when the doors open again. The same man leans out and nods at the guard. The guard nods back and grabs Tommy's arm roughly. Tommy stands up immediately, hoping the man will let go. The man's grip stays firm as he leads Tommy's through the doorway, half-dragging him really. Everyone in the room can see just how much Tommy doesn't want to be there. The suited man steps back as they enter, and melds back into the small crowd of people. He can't pick out anyone he recognizes, and he can't bring himself to meet anyone's eyes.</p>
<p><br/>'They all look the same,' Tommy thinks as the guard releases his arm, and leaves the room. Or maybe he said it out loud, because his lawyer is smiling at him as she emerges from the group.</p>
<p><br/>"You're very lucky," she says. She grabs his arm, far more gently than the guard, and leads him to a large table across the room. Seeing the confused look on his face, she says, "You'll see." Soon they're seated, and Tommy looks carefully around the room. Tommy can see his parents at the far end of the table. They're sitting as far from Tommy and Ms. Mirandes as possible, but still manage to be separated from each other by several feet.  It's a long table, and Tommy wonders if it was brought in specially for them. The detectives are in the room too, seated on a bench on the other side of the room, but they don't seem to be speaking to anyone else.</p>
<p><br/>The hearing itself passes in a blur, and Tommy doesn't say a word. He isn't asked to speak, and doesn't as his lawyer any questions to make the whole ordeal less obscure. He does catch a few snippets here and there. Most important is that he's not going to be tried as an adult. Whatever else happens, it should all be over when he turns 21. Ms. Mirandes turns to make sure he's heard the news, and he gives her a weak smile. They must have believed that it was an accident, that he hadn't known what his powers could do.</p>
<p><br/>Caught up in his relief, Tommy doesn't noticed people leaving the table. Now there's only a few left: him, his parents, his lawyer, and two other people. One of them, a stern-looking blond woman, is talking to his parents.</p>
<p><br/>"Your son is very lucky that we learned of this new facility. It was the primary factor in our decision to keep this matter in juvenile court. </p>
<p><br/>"This facility, its especially for mutant's, right?" Tommy's mother asks hesitantly.</p>
<p><br/>"Its for juvenile offenders with enhanced abilities," the blond woman replies.</p>
<p><br/>The last person in the room interrupts."Its the only reputable institution in the country for the containment of enhanced young adults." The speaker is a little man, peering out into the room through tiny round glasses. "It's also the only one that incorporates scientific investigation of these powers into the program."</p>
<p><br/>"By investigate, you mean that they'll find a way to get rid of them?" Tommy's father asks.</p>
<p><br/>The others look at the bespectacled man expectantly. There's a slight pause as he appears to consider his words, then he replies with a professional smile. "Naturally, in the case of more destructive abilities such as those of young Mr. Shepherd, that is the eventual goal," he says.</p>
<p><br/>Tommy scowls. He's always heard that getting rid of mutant powers is impossible. Isn't that kind of the point of being a mutant? He leans forward in seat to better hear the conversation.  </p>
<p><br/>"The point is that Tommy will not be going into an adult facility," Ms. Mirandes interjects pointedly. The stern-looking blond woman nods in agreement. </p>
<p><br/>"It is not the state's intention to let any young person fall through the cracks of our justice system. Mutant or not," she declares.</p>
<p><br/>"After all," the man in glasses adds. "We want all children who enter the system to come out better than when they entered it." After this proclamation, there's a beat of silence. The the man hastily continues, this time speaking to the blond woman.</p>
<p><br/>"However, I trust you've been told that our facility is not yet ready to receive the boy?" She nods and replies, "We've arranged a space for him at a normal juvenile facility. They have special protocols in place."</p>
<p><br/>"Why can't I just stay there," Tommy interrupts, speaking for the first time since he sat at the table. He's been to juvie before, and if he has to be locked up for several years, he'd prefer the more familiar system. </p>
<p><br/>"They don't normally accept kids with both powers and violent offenses," Ms Mirandes answers. "They'll allow you to stay for a few weeks, perhaps a few months, until this new place is ready for you.</p>
<p><br/>"It's a safe place for him until we are prepared. Then he will enter our facility," the main in glasses says, ignoring the interruption. He smiles at Tommy's parents and adds, "It will be good for him." At this assertion Tommy's mother bobs her head earnestly. After a moment his father nods as well.</p>
<p><br/>Tommy finds himself nodding his head too, despite his lingering apprehension. He jerks his head still. <br/>Suddenly impatient, he asks abruptly, "When do I leave?" </p>
<p><br/>"First thing in the morning, 6am" the blond woman replies.</p>
<p>Tommy can't suppress his instinctive scowl at the early rising. He thinks the woman smirks at his expression, but he's shuffled out his seat by Ms. Mirandes before he can be sure. The lawyer wastes no time in getting him on his feet and to the door. They startle the police officer outside, almost getting a smile out of Tommy. It's the same man as before, and he grabs his arm just as hard, but Tommy doesn't care. He's still exhausted and haunted by his guilt, but some of the tension he's been holding in his chest is gone. After all that he's done, they're just going to send him to juvie, not even actual prison. It can't be too bad, can it?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This chapter was already written so there's no real excuse for taking a month to post it. However, March was very tornado-y and tree pollen has been trying to drain my sinuses of a lifetime of snot reserves, so yeah. But hey, part one is finished before my birthday next week, and now I have plenty of time to do my taxes. Fantastic /s. Anyway, enjoy, and expect the first chapter of part two later this month.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Almost five years ago I graduated college and low-key abandoned the first version of this fic. Then I got diagnosed with anxiety, took a six month nap, got a job (1), got another job (2), went to grad school, got another job (3), got another job (4) got diagnosed with adhd, got a masters degree, got another job (5), got another job (6), then 2020 happened. It's been a bit. Also the wandavision show rekindled my interest in marvel as a whole and this kid in particular. This fic has nothing to do with the show, but I figured now was a good time to try to finish this shit</p><p>Anyway this is an origin story kinda thing for my boy Tommy, first of a series. The series will go up to the point where he would have met the YA and then diverge sharply, plot largely TBA. Posting schedule will be irregular due to who I am as a person.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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